


beloved, once

by searchingforenadi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Identity Porn, Miho is tired and done, Murder Is An Option, Not Incest, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Secret Identity, Self-Insert, Sibling Complex, Siblings, Swords & Stealth & Medical Procedures, Time Travel, Uchiha Massacre, Unreliable Narrator, and does not give a flying fuck, it is barren, look at this field of fucks, mentions/thoughts of suicide/fratricide/patricide/any 'cide' you can think of, please don't think it is, possible ships in the future, time loop but not really, will there be comfort? that is hard to say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingforenadi/pseuds/searchingforenadi
Summary: “She had thought she would spend the whole day wondering where she went wrong. Instead, Itachi’s tired eyes reflected her own.”...The night of the Uchiha Massacre, Uchiha Miho perished under the hand of her brother. She didn’t expect to wake up, much less as an infant - again.(SI!OC who tried and failed… and now had the unwelcome chance to try again.)
Relationships: Uchiha Clan & Uchiha Miho, Uchiha Itachi & Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Miho, Uchiha Sasuke & Uchiha Miho
Comments: 106
Kudos: 755
Collections: An Uchiha's Hoard





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to drippingmoonwax for being a great beta as always :)

She could only see shadows in the room. The silence of the night was broken by shallow breaths and a whispering breeze. 

The sluggish, hazy daze of an infant’s mind was a familiar one. If there had been light, she would have been able to see her hands, once again pale and unscarred. 

Her skin brushed along the soft fabric of her blanket. There was a flutter of movement, of easy, quiet breathing, beside her ears. 

Uchiha Miho slowly turned her head - and stared at the child next to her. 

( _The door behind her slowly opened._

_“You know,” she began, staring out through her bedroom window. The scent of iron and blood flooded the air. “When they said I had the worst parts between the two of us… I guess they were right.”_

_There was a pause._

_“Miho,” he said wearily. She briefly wondered if he had saved her for last. It wouldn’t be hard to check, to search for their parents’ chakra downstairs -_

_Her hands fiddled with origami paper and, almost too casually, she looked back._

_She had thought her life would flash before her eyes. Displaying everything she did wrong, the chances she had missed, the signs she hadn’t noticed -_

_Instead, Itachi’s tired eyes reflected her own.)_

Her fingers clenched the blanket. For an agonizing moment, she envisioned taking the blanket and pressing it against his face, pushing down until his heartbeat stopped - 

She stared into the dark ceiling.

And, just like every other night, she released her grip and closed her eyes.

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Uchiha Miho and Uchiha Itachi were born on an auspicious day. 

Twins, the elders hummed, eyes already trained on the firstborn, on the future Uchiha Itachi would bring. 

Before, she had clawed for those stares. She had been desperate - a timer ticking down in her head, the numbers looming beneath her skin. 

_Look at me,_ she had cried, fingers outreached towards Itachi’s distant back. _Let me help!_

“Good work, Itachi-sama,” a familiar voice praised, and she returned to the world. “You’ll be fluent in katakana in no time.”

They were sitting under the wooden awnings of her home, a pot of lukewarm tea resting on a low table. 

“Than’ you,” Itachi said, his lisp betraying his three-year-old self. She had once thought that that was the most adorable thing in the world. 

The tutor glanced across the table, to Miho and her half-finished work. 

“And you as well, Miho-hime,” the tutor said, half a beat later. He was just as unsubtle as he had been the first time. 

(She had taken offense to that, before. Her mind had worked frantically, learning whatever she could, finishing everything given to her as fast as possible - just to have the _right_ to stand by Itachi’s side.

In the end, it hadn’t been enough.)

“Thank you,” she quietly said, fingers carefully wrapped around her pencil. She slowly drew out the next character. 

On the other side of the table, Itachi stared at her curiously, eyes wide and bright. The cushion beneath him seemed to nearly swallow his tiny body whole.

Her eyes focused on the worksheets in front of her. 

From the very beginning, she had wanted to bring something warm into his world. Prior knowledge had told her he loved the bright, the friendly, the _innocent._

 _Itachi-nii-san,_ she used to call him, with open arms and a grin so wide her cheeks had begun to sting. Her heart had ached to give something, anything, that she could.

It got easier with time - her smiles, her laughs - until it was difficult to tell apart what was real from what wasn’t. 

_What would be enough,_ she had wondered, had desperately searched for, _to defy the tragedy of his fate?_

Her pencil paused above the paper. A warm breeze blew through the garden and the open doors, leaving black strands of hair to tickle her ears. 

She turned her head to the world outside. The wind brushed past the tiny koi pond, sending quiet ripples across the water. 

It would be easy, she thought, to fall into the pond and never come out. In a matter of minutes, she could end it all.

(If she let the water pool over her head, would she return to the same moment and restart again?). 

Warm, steady chakra floated toward the front door. There was a clatter and immediately, Itachi’s gaze shot to the side.

She imagined the noise was more for their own benefit. Uchiha Mikoto was far too skilled for it to be anything else. 

“My,” Mikoto said, walking through the sliding doors with silent footsteps. The tutor rose to his feet and gave a deep bow. “I see you two are hard at work.”

“Yes!” Itachi answered, eyes curving into a smile. He wouldn’t learn to stifle his facial expressions until next year. 

Mikoto crouched down, tucking her yukata around her legs. Her eyes creased and a gentle smile rested on her lips.

“Well, I guess I should get started on dinner then,” she finally said, after looking between the two children. “Keep up the good work!”

Standing up in one smooth motion, their mother headed to the kitchen, her chakra as smooth as a sharpened katana. 

Silently, Miho finished another hiragana character and moved on to the next one. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Dinner that night, as it had been for the past year, was a quiet affair.

Soft clacks of chopsticks, the summer crickets crooning outside - sounds she had spent over a decade learning. 

“Itachi,” their father said, after a long moment of silence. By his side, Mikoto nearly paused. “I heard you’re progressing well in your studies.”

Across the table, Itachi kept his hands in his lap. “Yes.”

She glanced at his fingers curled tightly into fists. 

_A fast learner as always,_ she thought, taking a slow sip of miso soup. 

Fugaku nodded slightly before turning his attention to her. A lifetime ago, the heavy weight of his stare would’ve been enough to straighten her back. 

“And you, Miho,” he said, something briefly flashing past his eyes. “You must try harder. Already, you’re dragging behind your brother.”

 _Early,_ she thought, placing her spoon down onto the table. _You’re saying this much earlier than before._

(By the time they had turned nine, the gap between her and Itachi had grown noticeably wide. The elders and, consequently, her father, had not been pleased.

It was nearly enough to make her crumble - the remaining years till the end had hung above her like a guillotine.)

But that was a lifetime ago. This time, it was difficult to even bother making an effort. 

“I understand,” she said, waiting another moment longer before returning to her soup.

Her father’s eyes narrowed. 

The dinner continued on, and she remained focused on her food. Itachi’s stares pricked at her skin. 

It wouldn’t matter. After Sasuke’s birth, those curious eyes would turn there instead. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

The year passed by slower than she remembered.

It was likely because, unlike last time, she wasn’t scrambling to find a solution. Those years of frenzied planning had always made time seem so short. 

“Again,” Fugaku called, face stern and arms folded. 

She rolled her shoulders and tested her straining muscles. On the other side of the training ground, Itachi moved swiftly to the practice targets to pick up his wooden shuriken. 

By the time she reached her own fallen weapons, Itachi was running through his throws again. 

Her fingers curled around the shuriken, the rough wood brushing against her skin. She dusted off the practice weapons and returned to her spot.

Finding the right stance was as easy as breathing - she had already gone through her father’s harsh training once. 

She tested the weight of the shuriken before tossing it forward. It landed a few meters further away.

The motion was familiar, she thought, though the muscle memory wasn’t there yet.

Her next few throws continued in this fashion - slowly, carefully, _precisely._

“Faster!” Fugaku barked. She grabbed her last shuriken. “How can you expect to use real weapons at that speed?”

Ever the dutiful daughter, she threw the shuriken with the same speed as before. It landed right on top of the growing pile of tossed weapons. 

She had often torn her muscles before, to keep up with her father’s demands. It had left spots of bad technique that took her years to fix. 

Behind her, Fugaku’s chakra spiked minutely. 

Quietly, she moved again to pick up her pile of shuriken. From the corner of her eye, she caught Itachi throwing his shuriken with accuracy and an alarming amount of speed. 

_Must be nice,_ she thought dully. The envy she once had - the _awe -_ was long gone.

( _You’re amazing, Itachi-nii-san,_ she had said before, with wide, amazed eyes. Fugaku had frowned at them, but Itachi’s warm, quiet smile had made it worth it.)

At the end of their training, she was pulled to the side. 

"From now on, you'll be training separately from Itachi," Fugaku said. He wasn't particularly tall, but at her age, he seemed to loom over her entire body. "It's clear you're unable to keep up. I cannot have you holding your brother back."

She studied her father's sandals. This hadn't happened before - at age nine, she and Itachi had gone their separate ways and had long since stopped learning from Fugaku.

( _I'll do my best,_ she had promised her father, with shining eyes and a broad smile. Her cheeks had ached from the strain.

Her time had been spent obsessively in the training grounds. It was a search for a single advantage, for another breakthrough, just to keep her father's eyes on _her,_ to unload even a fraction of Itachi's burdens _-_ )

"I understand," she said, because she now knew her best would never be enough. With a bow, she turned around and walked out of the training grounds.

There was a scurry of movement at the gates. A rustle of leaves and the patter of footsteps. 

Without a single glance, she walked past Itachi and headed home.

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

"I heard about your training sessions," her mother said one morning, picking through a wardrobe of clothes. 

Mikoto released a sigh. "Honestly. Sometimes, it's hard to understand what your father's thinking."

It wasn't hard at all, Miho thought, waiting patiently in front of a mirror. Uchiha Fugaku was a proud man and that was probably his only personality trait.

"He does care, you know," Mikoto said, before bringing out a deep blue yukata, with white lilies decorated at the hem. "What do you think?"

"That's fine."

After some time, a pair of firm, warm hands grasped her shoulders.

"Would you look at that," Mikoto said, eyes creasing. "Your mother is blessed to have such beautiful children."

There was a girl in the mirror. Straight, raven hair that fell past her shoulders, a set of dark eyes and pale skin - 

It would have been a disconcerting sight, years ago. 

This time, she could only stare at the dark circles under her eyes. 

Long, slim fingers reached out to her.

"It's time we go," her mother said, wrapping a hand around her own. "We don't want to be late, do we?"

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

A sudden wail pierced through the streets.

" _You're lying!_ " a woman wailed, hair in disarray. She collapsed to the floor beside a stoic ninja. "I can't - you're lying to me! He's not, he's not dead! _He can't be!_ "

Miho slipped the rest of the coins into the shopkeeper's slack hand. 

She grabbed half of the groceries and said, "Let's go."

Tearing his eyes away from the sobbing woman, Itachi nodded slowly and picked up the remaining bags.

 _Bad form,_ she thought, walking past the crowd that had begun to surround the scene. _They should've found a more private spot._

The grocery bags weighed heavily against her arms. By her side, Itachi continued on without any visible signs of struggle.

It was a clear sign that Itachi was already subconsciously working his chakra through his muscles. 

She prodded her own pool of chakra. Keeping it under a tight leash was second nature at this point, but she was still too young to make any use of it yet.

 _There's too much,_ she realized, poking her chakra a little more. It churned uneasily back and forth. 

It was to be expected. Her first time in this body had left her chakra unbalanced because of the drastic spiritual differences. 

Coming back a second time… probably made it even worse.

She silently clicked her tongue. It wasn't in her plans to train beyond her father’s demands (that was to say, she didn't have _any_ plans), but the potential harm was too great to ignore.

(She remembered collapsing to the ground, lungs heaving and heart thudding violently in her chest. Itachi's hands ran over her arms, trying to find the source of her pain - they had been too young to really understand the cause.)

She continued to walk down the dusty roads and kept to the side. Despite the bustle of activity around them, she and Itachi remained silent.

His chakra bubbled, like water boiling over a stove, until - 

"What was wrong with that woman?"

Miho didn't pause, her feet already moving on from where Itachi had stopped.

When it was clear he wouldn't be moving anytime soon, she turned back around.

"Someone she loved was killed," she said, eyes already straying to the rooftops above her head. Hidden pools of chakra darted around her.

Konoha was approaching the tail ends of the Third Shinobi War. Once the summer leaves turned golden, a new Hokage would be announced. 

And that would be the beginning of the end.

Itachi shifted, too well-trained to fidget but too young to stay still.

"You already knew that," Miho finally said, wondering what it would take to get him moving again. As children of the current Clan Head, they had already attended more funeral services than they could count. This scenario was nothing new.

"I know," Itachi said quietly, eyes trained on her, as if searching for some answer. "I just don't know why…"

His words trailed into the air. The missing words didn't matter; Miho had spent over a decade chasing after a boy who grew up too fast - she could easily fill in the blanks. 

_I just don't know why anyone has to suffer like this._

At the age of four, Itachi was well settled into his own beliefs. Soon he would begin to question his way of life, of the meaning behind death and righteousness. It would eat away at his conscience until finally, he would choose the one he loved most over everything else - 

And Miho, who was, frankly, tired of philosophical little boys who agonized over the concept of war, readjusted her grip on the groceries.

(Before, she would have wrapped her arms around him. She'd whisper how it wasn't fair, how life was cruel but also generous. They'd share a moment of understanding, of what they would do, years into the future -)

"That doesn't matter," she told him shortly, already turning away to head back home.

Footsteps followed after her. After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Why doesn't it matter?" 

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Itachi was unusually talkative today. They hadn't shared a single conversation in this lifetime. 

She ignored the question and kept her eyes trained in front of her. 

Behind her, in a soft voice, Itachi said, "It _should_ matter."

Her feet stopped. 

_I should've used that blanket,_ she thought numbly. _I should've used it and ended it right there._

"Why should it?" the words burned past her lips. In a blink, she realized she had already turned back around, staring straight into Itachi's wide, dark eyes. 

"You speak well for someone who only _thinks,_ " she said, unable to stop herself, unable to hold back the heat in her throat. "It doesn't matter _because_ you can't do anything."

 _I did everything for you,_ a part of her shrieked, the part she had buried after her death. _I did everything and look what happened! How dare you tell me what should matter?_

"Do you think your feelings can change everything?" the world around her seemed to vanish, and only Itachi seemed to remain. She was far too familiar with this sight. "Do you think _caring_ will be enough to make it better?"

Itachi took a step back. His chakra shrunk into himself. "No, I - "

"The only thing that matters is what can actually be changed," she said, dangerously quiet. "A single person can only do so much. To talk about what should or shouldn't matter… you must think highly of yourself."

Her grip on the grocery bags tightened. Without another word, she began to walk, leaving Itachi behind in the middle of a bustling road. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Their return home was done in eerie silence. It hardly bothered her - she was far too used to long bouts of quiet.

(Before, she used to fill it with words, chattering away by Itachi's side. She would talk, he would listen, and for a few years, she had thought that would be enough.)

It wasn't long before they handed the groceries over to their mother. The distance between the market and their home would become exponentially larger once the Uchiha were relocated to their new compound. 

_Another year,_ she thought mildly, stepping around Itachi and walking to her room. For once, his eyes didn't dig into her back. 

Another year before Kyuubi made its mark across the village. 

(She had agonized over what to do with that, once. Pored over her notes, weighed her options, despaired over the futility of her actions. It was the first lesson of many.)

In the end, she had cowered behind Itachi in a shelter and tucked her head behind his back. She imagined that, though it wasn’t clear to her at the time, she simply hadn’t been willing to break her mask. 

_Let’s just go through the same motions,_ she thought that night, stomach full from dinner. Moonlight splashed across her bedsheets as three steady flashes of chakra danced around the house. If she looked further, she could probably find her other relatives too. 

Despite everything else, she clung to those pools of chakra. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she had imagined the entire thing. Could almost pretend that the night where each of those lights vanished - one by one - had never happened. 

It was wishful thinking. She raised her hand towards the ceiling and curled her fingers inward. 

_Less than ten years left,_ a voice whispered in her mind, a phantom of the ticking countdown that had once haunted her dreams. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, repeating the words she had said to Itachi earlier that day. Her body shifted to the side and she placed the back of her hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to try anymore.”

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

As if the world was mocking her thoughts, she woke the next day to a familiar, blazing pool of chakra. The moment it entered the compound, her eyes snapped open, fingers curling around the kunai she had stolen from her father. 

A moment later, she returned to her senses and slowly released her grip. Her hands dug into her eyes and she wiped the grime away. 

In the minutes the chakra took to find her house, she slipped out of her bed and changed into looser clothes. Her body ran through the next stretches on autopilot, a habit she had cultivated for over a decade. 

She reached around her leg and relaxed her muscles, the strain barely registering in her mind. Under her tight hold, her chakra sparked restlessly - a reminder that she needed to do something before her spiritual energy overrode her muscles and stopped her heart. 

The temptation to let nature run its course was there. It was a better option than waiting in her bedroom once again, staring out into the blood-soaked streets, while Itachi’s chakra approached slowly - closer and closer - 

She closed the idea and packed it away for another time. Konoha’s medics were a little too talented for her to even attempt it.

Twenty minutes and a quick shower later, she padded down the stairs, passing by the room where Mikoto often entertained her guests.

“Miho!” her mother called. “Come meet my guest!”

 _How mad would Mother be,_ she thought, staring deeply into the garden outside, _if I ran for it?_

Like a mind-reader, Mikoto said warningly, “Miho…”

Swallowing down a sigh, she slid the door open and stepped inside. Immediately, chakra pressed against her skin - not hot enough to burn, but warm enough to remain present.

Sitting across from her mother, in well-fitted armor and sporting brilliant red hair, Uzumaki Kushina beamed. 

“Miho-chan!” Kushina cradled a hand along her cheek. “It’s been so long! Do you remember me?”

“I don’t,” Miho answered, clasping her hands together. She had been two when Kushina had last visited in this timeline. There was no conceivable way she would really be able to remember. 

There was a short pause as Kushina glanced at Mikoto, who simply released a light sigh. 

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” Kushina said, an effortless smile on her face. “You’re growing to be just as pretty as your mom!”

“Thank you,” Miho said. She had once wondered what this body would eventually grow into, back when her desperation had spurred on a sense of hope. 

Now, she was resigned to have the image of a child, forever frozen in her mind. 

Another short pause. 

Kushina leaned slowly back to Mikoto. In a near inaudible voice, she whispered, “... the hell, Mikoto-chan? Both your kids are so gloomy!”

Mikoto creased her eyes. “Miho, why don’t you eat some breakfast? There’s some on the stove right now. Your father took Itachi to the training grounds a while ago.

With a blink, Miho nodded and exited the room. As the door slowly closed behind her, a sharp clang of metal rang through the air. Likely, Mikoto was defending her children’s honor. 

It was easy work to reheat some soup and take out a bowl of rice. The chakra in the room behind her flickered freely - even through the walls, she could feel a faint heat warming her back. 

She had called Kushina something else, once. In the few years before Kyuubi's return, Uchiha Miho had tottered around Kushina with a bright smile and eager eyes. 

( _Auntie,_ she would cry out, tugging at Kushina’s clothes. _Auntie, teach me something new!_ )

Kushina had visited often in that timeline. It was clear she had enjoyed spending time with a reflection of herself - with someone warm and full of life. 

Those days were idyllic. Those were the days when a single person seemed to be enough. 

She ate quietly in the kitchen. The chakra behind her continued to burn brightly, like the sun on a midsummer day. 

(This time, she had no plans on being a reflection for anyone but herself.)

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Later that night, when the moon rose above her mother’s little garden, she knocked on the door to Fugaku’s office. 

“Enter.”

She slid the door behind her, all too mindful of the etiquette lessons she had begun a month ago. From past experience, she knew Mikoto would _definitely_ be able to hear the door slam shut. 

Fugaku’s office was simple and clean. It was the picture-perfect example of practicality, and in the center, sitting on the floor next to a desk full of documents, her father continued to write. 

Though it was her first time in this timeline, Miho had too many memories of visiting this place in a lifetime past. She gingerly knelt down and placed her hands in her lap. 

The silence lasted for a few more minutes. Besides the crackle of a nearby candle and the scratch of pencil, Miho was left entirely to her thoughts. 

_Dangerous as always,_ she thought, sitting patiently still. 

Eventually, perhaps when he had finished his current file (or when he had tired of Miho’s presence), Fugaku looked up at her. “What is it?”

“I’d like permission to leave the compound to train,” she said, without preamble. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn that it was best to remain direct with him. “Especially in the early mornings.”

Fugaku placed a stack of paper onto the side. “Why?”

“It’s less crowded in the mornings,” she answered, aware that she was missing the point of his question entirely. 

Her father’s permission didn’t really matter, in the end. By the time she was eleven, Miho could slip in and out of the compound like a ghost, completely disappearing from any chakra sense. 

(When it had become clear she’d never catch up to Itachi’s unrealistic standards, she had long since turned to other fields, in hopes of having _something_ to offer. Itachi may be many things, but a stealth specialist was not one of them.)

The next best option was politely informing her parents about her potential whereabouts. Sometimes, a lack of chakra was just as alarming as the presence of one, and the last thing she needed was for Mikoto to barge into an empty room while expecting the worst.

“Very well,” Fugaku said, after a long pause. “It’s about time you took your studies seriously.”

“Thank you,” she said, even though her intentions had been completely misinterpreted. Why deny what wasn’t asked for?

She left the office right after and walked up the stairs to her room. There was a flickering chakra above her, like the embers of a warm fireplace. 

Her timing, she surmised, would always be terrible. 

In the hallway, under the soft light of countless stars, Itachi visibly paused, his hands wrapped around a towel.

His hair curled around the side of his face and his cheeks were flushed. Mikoto had always insisted a warm bath after training was tradition. 

She steadily walked past him, her footsteps audible against the wooden floor and eyes trained forward. The door to her room silently closed shut. 

It would have been easier if she could ignore her surroundings. But the world had never made things easier for the Uchiha, and so, she was left to watch as the warm chakra in the hallway remained still, for a while longer, before finally moving once again. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

The morning birds chirped in her ears, greeting the sun that had only just begun to rise. With quiet breaths, Miho circled the outskirts of the training grounds a second time, her feet maintaining a steady pace. 

Before, back when she had known nothing about conditioning and had only kept her sight on Itachi’s oncoming demise, she had spent hours perfecting her form. Her muscles would often tear from overuse until eventually, a medic threatened to report her for negligence. 

( _I’m fine,_ she had reassured Itachi brightly, during the few times he was available to visit her in the hospital. The lines between his eyes had become more pronounced, and she was nearly tempted to tell him that she was just as tired as he was. _It happens sometimes, so don’t worry, Itachi-nii-san! I’ll be better before you know it!_ )

It wasn’t worth going through the motions to land herself in the hospital again. The constant strain on her body prevented her from growing as much as she should have - if there was one thing she was determined to have in this life, it was to have a little more height than before. 

Thirty minutes later, she ran through another set of stretches and drank heartily from her water bottle. Then, after probing her chakra once more (still kept tightly together), she began another set of laps around the training grounds. 

Her routine continued on, at a near leisurely pace. The months continued and, at the end of the summer, Konoha celebrated the end of the war and welcomed a new leader into the fold. 

Standing by her father’s side, she shrunk her chakra into herself, carefully coating her ears to block out the flood of noise covering the streets. 

Itachi’s eyes had, once again, returned to prick her skin. 

Further ahead, under a halo of light, Namikaze Minato accepted a wide-brimmed hat and waved at the crowd. A thunder of cheers rang through the air as dozens of feet stamped their approval. 

From a distance, Minato’s chakra shone brightly, like a dancing, spring breeze - even in her past life, she had yet to meet someone with chakra as pretty as Namikaze Minato’s. 

Under the clear, blue sky, hearing the chants of hundreds, the smell of smoke and maple leaves, she could almost imagine that the future was bright. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

In the entrance of winter, she and Itachi were brought to the dinner table for a formal discussion. 

Mikoto’s curved smile told all. 

“We just wanted to let you know,” she began, one hand curled around her father’s. It was moments like these that let a sliver of her parents’ relationship through. “By summer’s time, we might have someone new in our family.”

Having lived through this once, Miho nodded silently. 

Itachi was uncomfortably quick on the uptake.

“You mean,” his eyes slid over to Miho, before quickly returning back to their mother. “A sibling?”

“That’s right,” Mikoto smiled, somehow unsurprised that her four-year-old children knew exactly what was going on. “Hopefully, we’ll get to meet them soon!”

“You’ll do well to guide them through our traditions,” Fugaku added, glancing pointedly at Miho. 

Pretending as if she couldn’t feel the look at all, she let her eyes travel over to the sliding doors that were left slightly ajar, and into the hallway outside. 

_Sasuke, huh,_ she thought, staring after the crescent moon in the distance. 

At the end of it all, would she return to the same spot again, for the third time? How many times would Sasuke be left behind, until the world was satisfied?

She didn’t know if the love of a brother was a blessing or a curse. 

_It’s not something I know much about,_ she thought, glancing briefly behind her and into Itachi’s dark eyes. 

He blinked rapidly as she rose to her feet and bid her parents goodnight. 

Perhaps he _had_ cared, she allowed, as she walked up the stairs. Itachi was a boy who cared sometimes too deeply and sometimes not enough. 

It wasn’t a matter of if he had or hadn’t. Rather, it was a question of why she hadn’t been enough. 

But that was a thought that would only force a responsibility onto her. That was the thought that had spurned her on, an entire lifetime ago. 

(No matter her thoughts, it was important to remember that Itachi would pick Sasuke - over and over again. 

And she was tired of fighting for something that was never hers in the first place.)

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

( _Like a candle blown to dust, another light vanished into thin air. And another. Then another._

_She waited patiently by her windowsill, the screams of her relatives muffled through the walls. Against the glass windowpane, her reflection stared back at her - a thin, pale girl with sunken eyes._

_Farther away, near the corner of another district, Sasuke’s chakra flickered faintly in the distance. He was probably still at the Academy._

_There was someone else near her house, moving rapidly through the streets, quietly snuffing another light, one after the other. The chakra roared like a forest fire, a swirl of flames escaping into the night._

_She knew that one._

_Without a single sound, she sunk her senses into herself and let her mind go blank. From the pockets of her kimono, she pulled out a piece of origami paper, and began to fold._

_After a long moment, the chakra moved up the stairs and into the hallway. Her eyes remained focused on the streets outside, where pools of blood dripped down the road._

_The door behind her slowly opened._

_“You know,” she began, staring out through her bedroom window. The scent of iron and blood flooded the air. “When they said I had the worst parts between the two of us… I guess they were right.”_

_There was a pause._

_“Miho,” he said wearily. She briefly wondered if he had saved her for last. It wouldn’t be hard to check, to search for their parents’ chakra downstairs -_

_Her hands fiddled with the folded origami paper. Slowly, she looked back._

_There was blood dripping from his eyes. Was it for her, or for their parents, or for the only person they’d be leaving behind?_

_She knew the answer already._

_“I’m tired, Itachi,” she said._

_His grip around his katana tightened._

_“I know,” he said. There was a strange, dull light in his eyes._

_A paper flower rested in her hands._

_“Hey,” she said. It was a wonder he hadn’t already used his sword to end their misery. Was he waiting for Sasuke?_

_“Could you do me a favor?”)_

She woke up with a flash of red. 

Her body remained frozen still, breaths even and chakra eerily calm. Even in her sleep, it was ridiculous how easy it was to maintain control over herself. 

The house was strangely empty. 

It took her a moment to remember that Mikoto would be at the hospital today for a doctor’s appointment, before she moved to get ready for the day. 

She grabbed a packed lunch from the kitchen and headed out the front door. 

“Good morning, Miho-hime,” an elderly woman called out. 

“Good morning,” Miho answered back, bowing once before continuing on her way. 

Her path out of the compound was only interrupted a few more times, where several adults gave short greetings. She passed by a small group of children, who all gave her a wide berth.

(She used to play with those children and greet her relatives with great cheer. 

It was easy to tell herself it was for information gathering, to reinforce her identity within her clan, to prepare for the day when she would need to settle negotiations. 

In hindsight, perhaps - despite her relationship with Itachi - she had simply been lonely.)

It didn’t take long for her to walk to the training grounds. Though she had no access to the actual grounds as a civilian, the outskirts were free game. 

Her hair, now falling between her shoulder blades, was tied tightly into a ponytail. After a good hour or so, as sweat dripped down her neck and her legs ached, she took a short break and began to stretch.

 _One more year,_ Miho guessed, probing her restless chakra. It sparked around her fingers, but she ignored the sting with ease. 

Another year for her chakra to settle meant she’d be around five or six. That… was earlier than expected. 

She hadn’t come across the original issue until she had entered the Academy, years ago. By then, it was a scramble to keep her physical abilities up to par, while keeping a sharp eye on her chakra.

It still hadn’t taken long for her to leave - a year after Itachi’s graduation, she had followed in his footsteps. A strange thought, considering how dangerously close she had gotten to ruining herself for the chance. 

She shook away the memories and stood on her feet. 

“I’ll try the woods this time,” she said aloud, before heading in the right direction. 

A good few hours were spent running through her katas, practicing with wooden shuriken, and testing the corners of her reserves - she switched between each routine with careful precision, making sure to give each muscle group enough time to recover. 

After another long while, Miho packed up her things and headed home. 

She passed by the guards around the compound, nodding once when they gave her a short bow. The same routine from the morning repeated itself and, after a few short greetings, she turned the corner.

Her feet stopped. 

_Something isn’t right,_ she eyed her house, studying the frantic chakra inside. The embers made it clear it was Itachi, but from what she could tell, there was no one else.

She entered the house on silent feet. Gently placing the empty lunchbox onto the kitchen table, she walked slowly up the stairs, her chakra completely invisible.

It wouldn’t hurt to remain concealed - though Itachi wasn’t supposed to learn how to sense chakra until his Academy years, he certainly knew how to use it now. 

The hallway was eerily still. Before long, she found herself close to the wall, her feet sliding over the wooden floor, breaths completely silent and with a lazily beating heart. 

_Old habits die hard,_ she thought, passing by Itachi’s room. Her head tilted to the side as she caught the slightest scent of blood. 

She paused. 

Itachi’s chakra continued to jump up and down, in a pattern that seemed almost reminiscent to _her_ own. 

It didn’t look like he was dying. Ultimately, a course of action could be decided after a shower. Mikoto’s teachings still held firm even a lifetime later. 

After a nice, warm shower, she stepped out into the hallway, dressed in a fresh pair of clothes and damp hair sticking to her face. 

Itachi’s room was suspiciously quiet. 

But Miho didn’t need sound to understand the chakra that was _still_ moving around. 

She headed to her room and closed the door. Running a towel through her hair, she grabbed a scroll for light reading and settled into her futon. 

Like a bug that wouldn’t go away, Itachi’s chakra jolted again, the action repeating over and over, burning against her senses - 

Miho eyed the kunai underneath her pillow. 

Itachi was still young. She could still overpower him at this age, despite his advantage in strength. If she brought the kunai, it would definitely tip the odds in her favor -

She snapped the scroll shut. 

“If you’re going to die,” she muttered. “At least die quietly.”

Her feet stepped silently out of the room, and it took a conscious effort to have them create an audible sound. She walked over to Itachi’s room, knocked once, and, without even waiting for an answer, opened the door. 

Immediately, the sharp scent of blood hit her nose. For a brief moment, her mind nearly flashed back to that night, where she had stood by the windowsill and waited for her turn. 

But she blinked again and instead, a younger Itachi, cheeks still soft and hair still short, entered her line of sight. 

He was completely frozen. Drops of blood had dripped down from his leg and onto the floor. Stained bandages were haphazardly wrapped around the open wound and his hands were completely red. 

They stared at each other for another moment. 

Distantly, Miho thought, _was four-year-old Itachi ever taught to dress his wounds?_

It had never been an issue before. Eventually, through the Academy, they would be taught the proper technique of wrapping bandages around open wounds, blisters, and other injuries. It was a standard class that had begun under the instruction of Senju Tsunade, decades ago. 

The words spilled out from her mouth before she could stop herself. “Are you dumb?”

Itachi was still too young to hide the flinch. 

_Of all places to dress your wound,_ she thought, already wondering if this timeline’s Itachi was slower than the previous one. _You could’ve gone to the hospital. Or a local clinic. Or even one of the aunties in the compound - !_

She eyed the ruined bandages around his leg. Without another word, she turned back around and walked to the bathroom. Like her previous lifetime, the cabinet under the sink still held fresh bandages and disinfectant. 

After grabbing those, she snatched several towels, running a few under warm water. In a matter of minutes, she had all her supplies and, with chakra crackling under her skin, returned to Itachi’s room. 

The door was still open. Inside, Itachi was in the same position as when she had left, though his hands were curled into fists and his eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him. 

She unceremoniously dropped her supplies by Itachi’s side. It was enough to startle him and nearly send him to the floor. 

His eyes widened as she sat on the floor, the blood from his wounds seeping into her clothes. “Wait, your clothes - ”

She pressed a warm towel against his leg and Itachi let out an abrupt hiss. 

From then on, it was silent. The blood was swiftly cleaned and the ruined bandages dumped (and, hopefully, eventually burned). After a few minutes, she applied disinfectant and studied the wound.

 _Long, but shallow,_ she thought, figuring Itachi’s chances of surviving were unfortunately rather high. Though it was a long shot, she gathered chakra to her fingertips. Unsurprisingly, a flicker of green sputtered to life, before quickly dying away. 

Instead, she carefully wrapped clean bandages around the wound. Though this body didn’t have the muscle memory, her mind remembered the hours she had spent in the hospital. 

It wasn’t difficult to guess how Itachi had gotten hurt. The question slipped past her lips before she could stop it. “Who gave you the kunai?” 

Itachi’s eyes were still trained on her hands. “... Father did.”

Miho paused.

That, she thought, was really unlikely. Despite her own conflictions with his method of training, Fugaku had always been incredibly attentive over Itachi’s growth.

But Itachi wasn’t a liar. Between the two of them, Miho had been the one to grab first place in that field. 

She couldn’t remember Itachi ever having a weapons accident when they were younger. They had trained together under Fugaku’s supervision until they were seven - 

_Oh,_ she thought. _I’m not at training sessions anymore._

Nowadays, her training was often overseen by another clan member or, sometimes, Mikoto. There was a lot of space for self-study, which suited her needs just fine.

But the absence of another child opened up the opportunity to speed up Itachi’s training even further. 

Likely, Fugaku had given Itachi the kunai after a few supervised sessions. It was incredibly easy to fall into the mindset that Itachi could handle anything thrown his way. 

There was another long silence. 

She swiftly finished wrapping the wound and tucked the bandage under the ends. The towels were stuffed into a bag for a more thorough cleaning and she briefly glanced at the blood on the floor. 

Learning how to clean blood was a rite of passage, and she imagined Itachi at least deserved a scolding from Mikoto. 

Behind her, his chakra bubbled in a familiar way. In the quietest of voices, with words so thin they seemed to vanish into air, Itachi asked, 

“Do you hate me?”

 _Yes,_ the word burst onto her tongue and nearly escaped her lips. _How could I not?_

But that would be an admission of what she had _before_ , and that wasn’t something she planned on sharing. 

She tied the bag of dirty towels shut and silently walked out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, you might be wondering, an angst fic? enadi, that's not like you! and you would be very, very correct.
> 
> but i wanted to try something new and, as you can see, the premise of this entire fic is full of nice, fresh angst and an equally as fresh complex, morally grey protagonist - it'll be fun! probably!
> 
> it might get confusing trying to differentiate the different timelines of 'past' and 'present,' but i hope it's clear enough! thanks to everyone who's giving this a shot - stay safe and healthy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to drippingmoonwax for being an incredible beta - i still haven't thanked you enough yet haha

The tea nearly scalded her tongue, the heavy scent of jasmine flooding her mouth. 

“Great as always,” Kushina said brightly, cradling a steaming cup in her hands. She shook her head. “You really should’ve married me instead, Mikoto-chan.”

“It’s one of my greatest regrets,” her mother said serenely, pouring tea into her own cup. 

At the other end of the table, Miho sat obediently on her knees. 

She stared blankly at the cup in her hands. 

_What am I doing here?_

Kushina tilted her head before a sly grin made its way onto her face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re making little Miho-chan do this too,” she said, and turned to the subject in question. “Your mom used to practice making tea every day, and guess who was her favorite test subject?”

“You, Kushina-san,” Miho said dutifully. 

Kushina banged a fist onto the table. The silverware rattled from the impact. “That’s right! And I’ve never been the same since!”

“Oh, please,” Mikoto said. “Tea can’t change you.”

 _Actually,_ a voice whispered in Miho’s mind. _Depending on the kind of tea, it can._

She ignored the reminders of a previous lifetime and quietly sipped her tea. 

“Miho has already started on her lessons,” her mother added, readjusting the spoons back to their appropriate places. “I’m sure she’ll follow well in my footsteps.”

Kushina sent Miho a ridiculously sympathetic look. 

It was unneeded, she thought, because she had gone through Mikoto’s brutal regime once before. Running through them a second time only reinforced the memories she already had. 

“She’s actually been doing very well so far,” Mikoto said with a smile. “Isn’t that right, Miho?”

“Thank you,” Miho said, for lack of better words. It would be awkward to mention that her apparent skills came from years of hard work. 

“Speaking of doing well,” Kushina said, pulling out a scroll from her vest and unrolling it onto the table. “How’s the baby doing?”

“Everything’s right on schedule,” Mikoto answered, already leaning over the table to get a better look. “Is that - ?”

 _Sanitation seals,_ Miho noted, glancing over the scroll from the corner of her eye. It was a costly additional layer of protection for pregnant women, but it probably wasn’t much for someone like Uzumaki Kushina. 

“Yeah, but I’m trying to figure out how to add another barrier on top,” Kushina said, biting her thumb. “I’m thinking about layering the locks on the outside - ”

“I’ll take my leave, then,” Miho said, rising to her feet. She gave a short bow. “Have a good day.”

Knowing Kushina’s level of skill, it would take another week to find the right answer, she surmised, closing the door behind her. 

(Before, she would’ve stuck her nose right by Kushina’s side. She’d have pored over the sealing notes, studying late into the night - Kushina had often invited her to dinner to discuss even more theories.)

It wouldn’t matter, she thought, bringing a hand up to her eyes to block the harsh winter sunlight. 

In less than a year, Uzumaki Kushina would follow the written rules of her death; some time later, Miho would join her for, hopefully, the very last time. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

She ducked under Itachi’s arm and slid her feet forward. Unsurprisingly, he leapt back before striking again. 

They exchanged blows several more times, leaving her muscles straining under the force of his hits. 

With the coming approach of summer, Itachi and Miho would turn five once again. His young age didn’t seem to stop his drastic rise in skill. 

_Must be nice,_ she thought again, a little absentmindedly, while raising an arm to stop another swing to her neck. The blow wouldn’t have landed even if she hadn’t blocked it - Itachi had always been so afraid to do any real harm. 

But no, that was the case before. Here, in this timeline, where she wasn’t bright, wasn’t the person from before… she supposed anything could happen. 

(Spars like this had once been common. Back when she had fought to be seen as Itachi’s equal, they would often train together, up till his promotion into ANBU.)

Itachi abruptly kicked a leg out, somehow moving even faster than before. It was a little ridiculous, coming from a four-year-old, but she caught his ankle and twisted it anyways. 

Instead of falling to the ground (as most four-year-olds were _supposed_ to do), Itachi turned, using her hand to bring up his other foot and swipe at her head. 

_Rude,_ she thought, releasing his ankle and leaning back, the heel of his foot barely missing her nose. The tactic was enough to tell her that he was farther along in the clan’s taijutsu style than before. 

Itachi landed neatly on his feet and, without pause, moved forward again. It was a telling sign from a boy who usually planned his movements ahead carefully.

Despite his unchanging outward appearance, it was clear Itachi was tiring. She hadn’t spent over a decade studying his habits just to ignore the cues. 

It wouldn’t be difficult to turn the spar in her favor. Stamina had never been Itachi’s strongest suit and that was _exactly_ what Miho had been building in this life. 

Four-year-old Itachi still lacked the necessary aggression. If she kept up with his attacks and struck the moment he slipped up - 

She brought her hands up a second too late and, very graciously, allowed Itachi to drag her body to the ground. 

_As expected,_ she thought, because even in the last timeline, this body could barely keep up with Itachi’s. 

They stared at each other for the shortest of moments. She waited for him to quietly catch his breath as his shoulders heaved. 

It didn’t take long for Itach to quickly stand up, arms returning to his side before, a little haltingly, reaching out a hand. 

It was the polite thing to do, she noted. The spar wasn’t official and, even more importantly, Fugaku was watching from the sidelines. 

Those were all factors that would have driven her on before — the chance to stay by Itachi’s side, the opportunity to show their father her maturity, her ability as a proud member of the clan. 

They were factors that she didn’t need (didn’t _want_ ) anymore.

And, with that thought, she rose to her feet. Itachi’s hand slowly fell to the side as she dusted off her clothes. 

“Enough,” Fugaku said, with pinched eyebrows. “Itachi, go clean up. Miho, stay behind.”

It wasn’t long before she stood before her father, as Itachi disappeared off into the distance. 

His chakra, however, hovered close by.

( _Really,_ she thought dully, _who does he think he’s fooling?_ )

“Your improvement is minimal at best,” Fugaku began, arms clasped behind his back. “I was right to separate the two of you before, but I won’t have you dishonor the clan with your lack of ability. _Try harder_.”

There was a still moment of quiet.

 _Is that it?_ Miho studied the dusty ground. _Are we done now?_

She was familiar with this kind of exchange. After having heard variations of the same thing for ten years, it was hard to find the will to care. 

( _I’ll try harder, Father,_ she had often promised, back when staying in his good graces had actually meant something. It was easy to drown under his standards, stacked high from having a son like Itachi. 

But by the time she was thirteen, kneeling before his disapproving eyes, a different set of words began to cling to her throat. Three months before her oncoming deadline, it was harder to keep the mask up entirely.

 _What does it mean to try harder? What do you want me to do? Where’s the limit?_ )

She had swallowed those words before. Be good, be bright, _keep trying._

“I understand,” she slowly said. These days, she wondered where she stood now, without a set of smiles to hide behind. 

She was dismissed quickly after and, by the time she exited the training grounds, Itachi’s chakra had long since disappeared. 

(Without the need to chase after a futile plan, Miho’s list of desires was now sparingly short. Rather, it was near non-existent. 

At the very least, it was nice to have a good idea of what she _didn’t_ want.)

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

“Hold for three counts,” Mikoto called. “Then turn and - ”

Under several layers of heavy silk, Miho gave a low bow, arms curved and raised above her head. 

Mikoto clapped softly.

“Good,” her mother said, and Miho took this as a sign to relax her arms. “Smooth as always, Miho. I’m always surprised at how well you can control your body.”

“Thank you,” Miho said. 

Mikoto brought a hand to her cheek and released a sigh. “If only we could do something about your face.”

Miho blinked at the unexpected attack. Her face? The face her mother had always been so proud of?

“Not in that way,” Mikoto smiled, sitting in a wooden chair. Her hands rested on her swelling stomach - in two months, Sasuke would finally be born. “A smile goes a long way in presentation, you know.”

Having intimate knowledge on presentation (and the use of smiles), Miho said, “I see.”

“It might be unfamiliar to you now,” Mikoto continued. “But let’s try it anyways. The elders expect much from you.”

That seemed unlikely. The Uchiha held onto tradition with a tight grip but these additional requirements seemed to come from her mother entirely.

But she was stuck either way, so she bowed and returned to her starting position. A lifetime ago, she had gone through Mikoto’s lessons with little struggle. Slipping on a mask, entertaining guests - it was easy to adapt to those lessons when she had been using them her entire life.

 _A smile,_ she thought, as Mikoto counted off the steps. Her fingers pressed into her stiff cheeks for a brief moment. 

She couldn’t remember if she had ever smiled in this timeline’s body before. There hadn’t been a need, hadn’t been a _desire_ for it. 

(It was almost a relief.)

But there was a glint in Mikoto’s eyes that was rather familiar and, a little resignedly, Miho raised her arms and began to dance. 

It was a simple routine meant for the summer, when the sun burned bright and their family would gather around burning incense. Under the towering shrine, Miho had once danced to the lone koto, the twang of the strings filling her ears.

 _A smile,_ she thought again, feet moving steadily back and forth. After a moment, she lowered her eyelids and curved her lips slightly upwards. 

She kept up the pace of the dance. Years of experience told her to let her lips fall naturally in certain steps, before rising again during the more exciting moments.

A few minutes later, she stopped in the same position as before, hands raised above her head. Her gaze focused on the wooden floor beneath her feet and only the tiniest of smiles remained. 

Mikoto clapped furiously.

“That was wonderful!” her mother said, eyes creasing in delight. Immediately, Miho straightened and let her face relax. Her cheeks strained from the use - had it always been this exhausting before?

“You have a lot of potential here, Miho,” Mikoto said warmly. “We’ll continue working on it, but this is already a great start.”

“Thank you,” Miho said. 

They moved to the dining table, where Mikoto placed down a pot of jasmine tea and a plate of mochi.

“Now, tell me,” Mikoto said, gesturing to the tea. Miho dragged her eyes away from the mochi and carefully picked up the kettle. “How are your studies holding up?”

“As well as they can be,” Miho answered, steadily pouring out some tea into Mikoto’s cup first. She was still studying the academic basics with Itachi, but that would eventually finish in a few months’ time. 

All lessons related to the clan were currently being overseen by Uchiha Hansei. It had originally been her father in the previous timeline, back when she was still training side-by-side with Itachi, but things were bound to change with Miho’s… scarce amount of talent. 

(The idea of having to go through the same motions, to listen to the elders drone on and on, to have all eyes on her, constantly comparing her abilities to Itachi’s ever growing skills - 

It was as utterly unappealing as it had been the first time. 

Only now, there was no reason to endure the probing stares. Adjusting her strength, her speed, her technique to that of an average four-year-old was child’s play at this point.)

Once it was clear she wouldn’t be progressing as fast as Itachi, Hansei had lost whatever little interest he originally had in Miho’s training. 

She thought that was a fair assessment. Their time was now spent on the structure and history of the clan, which was far more interesting than pretending she had no knowledge of the basics. She could certainly work on that in her own time. 

But that wasn’t something she was planning on sharing with her mother.

“I see,” Mikoto said, quietly sipping at her tea. Miho settled into her seat, waiting till Mikoto set her cup down to drink her own tea. “I’ve heard Hansei-san does not think much of your progress.”

Miho remained silent. 

“I always thought that was strange,” Mikoto continued serenely. “You pick up on your lessons with me very quickly.”

Miho slowly sipped at her tea. As always, Uchiha Mikoto was the most dangerous member of the clan, if only for her ability to _see._

(She imagined this was where Itachi had gotten his own skills. It certainly couldn’t have been from their father.)

Mikoto delicately picked up a piece of mochi. “What has Hansei-san been teaching you these days?”

“The history and rituals of the clan,” Miho answered.

“That certainly does have its own importance,” Mikoto said, humming lightly. “Do you enjoy it?”

That… was a rather strange question. She couldn’t remember there ever being a time (in this life or the last) where her mother had been this invested in her learning. 

She had spent the previous timeline focusing entirely on broadening her skill set, which meant that she’d never really had the chance to learn the inner workings of the clan, beyond the surface level politics between the elders. 

Such topics were meant for the current heir, and she hadn’t envied Itachi’s position when he was called for those lessons. Strange as it was for Hansei to teach them now, it was likely he didn’t see the worth of doing much else with someone at Miho’s current skill level. 

“It has its merits,” Miho said slowly, realizing she was probably stranded in the middle of a minefield. 

“That’s good,” Mikoto said, as if she wasn’t casually placing down another exploding tag right by Miho’s metaphorical feet. She raised her cup to her lips and smiled gently.

The afternoon continued in relative silence, which only meant that Miho would have to sleep with one eye open for the foreseeable future. 

There was a familiar glint glimmering once again in her mother’s eyes, and an even more familiar pit of dread began to sink in her stomach.

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

She wiped her forehead, chest heaving for air and sweat sticking to her neck.

With a heavy sigh, she trudged to a nearby clearing and ran through her usual stretches. Like always, her chakra hummed beneath her skin, moving at a slower pace than before. 

_Strange,_ Miho poked it curiously. _It’s settling in faster than before._

There were several possible explanations. Training her body consistently - _precisely -_ gave her body the opportunity to recover and readjust. An earlier start might also be the reason.

 _A few more months and I can try some control exercises,_ she thought, letting her body fall onto the ground with a quiet thud. _Then I can -_

She stared at the fading blue sky above. 

_Then_ , she frowned, _what?_

Returning to the beginning, where the timer reset, was a reminder of the futility of her own actions. Fighting for strength, searching for allies, appeasing the clan - the day before her death, she had wondered about what she could have done differently. 

The option to try another way, to give Itachi - to give _herself -_ another chance, was there. She could train harder, make better friends, stronghold her relatives into a better standing with the village. 

But the ticking numbers above her head no longer haunted her every living moment - and this time, Uchiha Miho had no desire to live for the sake of someone else. 

(The idea of dying by Itachi’s hand again, however, was still unappealing as ever.)

 _I missed my chance with that blanket,_ she thought sardonically, slowly sitting up. 

Killing Itachi wouldn’t prevent the clan’s inevitable rebellion, and the consequences from doing it now would be too messy. 

Even more importantly, she imagined she was the better twin if she didn’t have Itachi’s blood on her hands. 

(The same couldn’t be said for _him._ )

She sighed, running a hand through her tied hair. Her fingers moved through the strands without any trouble - a prime example of her mother’s genetics working in her favor. 

_Eight more years,_ she thought as she rose to her feet. _What am I going to do for eight more years?_

It was a curious idea. For the first time in nearly two decades, her mind was clear - free from the terror over Itachi and her own oncoming demise. 

What would it be like, Miho wondered, to live without dreading over Itachi’s every move?

Would her limited years be the same as before? Would it be different? Would she _like_ it?

She grabbed her things and left the clearing.

For once, Miho had the time to figure out the answers on her own. 

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

The morning of June 9th began in a harrowing way. 

“If you’ll come with us, Miho-hime,” an elderly woman said, the wrinkles around her face creasing. Around the room, several other women rushed forward with unknown products in their hands. 

Even after having done this dance and song before, Miho stared at the bubbling bathtub with a sense of dread. 

_Just close your eyes,_ she told herself, fingers digging into the bathtub as fingernails raked across her scalp. The wood beneath her hands creaked ominously. _Just close your eyes and it’ll be over soon._

(It would be even worse on her seventh birthday - today might be Itachi’s shichi-go-san, but in two years, all eyes would be on _her._ )

Her chakra sparked restlessly under her skin. It was less because of any spiritual imbalances and more because of her hidden turmoil. 

An eternity later, Miho stood before a floor-length mirror, her skin flushed and hair tied neatly around an ornamental hair piece. 

“Oh, you look wonderful, hime!” the same woman cried out. “A spitting image of your mother!”

Miho studied her reflection. A young girl with pale skin and soft cheeks stared back, a bright red kimono draped on her shoulders.

 _I don’t see it,_ she thought dully. Her eyes were sharper than Mikoto’s and left a different impression. 

She was escorted out of her house and deeper into the compound, where the Uchiha shrine stood proudly above a set of stairs. 

(The shrine, along with everything else in the compound, would eventually be displaced and moved to the outskirts of the village in several months.)

At the foot of the stairs, Mikoto watched her approach with a warm smile. 

“You look lovely, Miho,” she said, eyes creasing in delight. “I imagine you’ll steal the spotlight, even though it’s Itachi’s shichi-go-san.”

 _That would be a problem,_ Miho thought, carefully taking her mother’s outreached hand. Mikoto’s fingers gently wrapped around hers.

They walked in tandem up the short set of stairs, with Miho’s body having no trouble keeping up with Mikoto’s steps. It was a good reflection of the training she’d gone through in the past year.

At the top of the stairs, a crowd of relatives bustled around the shrine. The sea of chakra was nearly blinding - the first time around, she had almost collapsed from shock. 

This time, she would almost dare to say it was a near comfort. 

Her feet padded down the neatly placed cobblestone. Countless stares pricked at her skin but her eyes remained focused on the road in front. 

She eventually reached the heart of the shrine, where Itachi and Fugaku were already waiting by a towering, golden bell. 

Mikoto finally released her grip and, after another moment, Miho tottered over to stand by Itachi’s side. 

“We celebrate this day for the future of the clan,” Fugaku began, and already, her mind was starting to wander.

Under the drone of her father’s voice, she focused intently on the cracks between the granite stone, where tiny tufts of grass were beginning to stick out. 

“ - and under the sun’s guidance, we will endure,” Fugaku finally said, marking the end of his convoluted speech. It was a sign to finish the ceremony and, placing her arms on top of each other, Miho turned to face Itachi.

“Blessings on this day,” Itachi said quietly, bowing smoothly. He wore a deep blue kimono and she wondered if that had been done on purpose.

“Blessings on this day,” Miho repeated, following the same routine. 

As they rose from their bows, she briefly met his gaze head on. Immediately, Itachi’s eyes darted down to the floor. 

At Fugaku’s signal, the crowd began to freely move around the shrine, leaving parents to congratulate any other children who had turned the appropriate age this year.

“Congratulations, you two,” Mikoto said, leaning down with two paper bags full of candy in hand. A lone, white crane decorated the red paper. “And happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Itachi said, a soft smile on his lips. He accepted the paper bag a little more quickly than what was appropriate. 

Miho echoed the same words, mouth already watering at the sight of the bag. It was unfortunate this body had such a strong sweet tooth. 

Fugaku nodded sternly. “It’s important to remain strong and healthy for the clan.”

Itachi bowed and Miho followed the action, a heartbeat too late. 

A wave of relatives approached closer, marking the start of an already exhausting day. But the incoming party of guests didn’t stop Mikoto from smiling down at them expectantly.

Resignedly, Miho turned to face Itachi. 

“Happy birthday, Miho,” Itachi said quietly, eyes still focused on the floor. 

(She knew what she would’ve done, years ago. 

_Happy birthday, Miho,_ Itachi had once said, eyes creasing and a warm smile on his lips. 

_Happy birthday, Itachi-nii-san,_ she had answered without hesitation, grasping his hands with her own and giving a wide grin. _I hope we’ll stay happy this year too!_ )

Under Mikoto’s pointed stare, Miho said, just as quietly, like an exhale, “Happy birthday, Itachi.”

(She didn’t know what to make of his wide eyes, or his tightening hands. But for the very first time, it occurred to her that she didn’t _have_ to. 

And that was enough for her.)

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

She handed over the correct number of coins to the cashier. “Thank you.”

“Uh,” the cashier said, eyeing the large number of bags on the floor. “Do you need - ”

Chakra flushed through her arms, Miho picked up the groceries with relative ease. 

_Finally,_ she thought, straightening her arm to prevent the bags from hitting the floor. It was about time her chakra settled enough into her system for conscious use.

She moved to leave the store, only to pause at the entirely too large man standing right at the entrance. 

_It’s been ten minutes,_ she thought, staring blankly at the man she had sensed while she was still shopping. She had purposefully taken an even longer time getting everything to avoid a confrontation. 

Her eyes trailed down to the groceries in her hands. Mikoto had requested a bunch of apples, but hadn’t specified _how many._ Surely the loss of one, single apple wouldn’t be missed -

“Excuse me,” Miho said instead. The apple would never land, first of all, and it was always a bad idea to grab the attention of Nara Shikaku. 

“Hmm?” Shikaku glanced down at her, before looking back up at the sale selection of alcohol, which, for some reason, was placed right next to the doorway. 

_Insufferable as always,_ she thought uncharitably. It hadn’t occurred to her that this marketplace was close to the Nara compound. 

( _You’re a strange one,_ he had once said, studying her as if he was picking apart every single layer beneath her skin. 

Her smile had widened so far her muscles had begun to ache. _I’m not sure what you mean by that, sensei._ )

It was clear Shikaku was choosing to be as much of a hindrance as possible. She imagined his original target was the salesman sweating bullets behind the counter. 

(Though she wouldn’t put it past the man to act petty around a random five-year-old.)

But this time, Miho had no obligation to maintain her manners. Shikaku was no longer her jounin-sensei and, even more importantly, Mikoto was nowhere in sight. With Sasuke’s birth approaching on the horizon, her mother was under house arrest for the next few weeks. 

With that in mind, she readjusted her grip on the groceries and walked right up to Shikaku’s leg. She raised her head to stare directly at him. 

He slowly looked down. 

Silently, Miho squeezed around his legs and made it a point to step on both of his feet. Her eyes remained trained on his face.

Once she had successfully crossed over to the entrance, she blinked slowly. Then, she turned on her heels and exited the store.

 _If I ever have to see him again, it’ll be too soon,_ she thought, ignoring the eyes boring into her back.

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Mikoto smiled behind the prepared cup of tea.

“This is very good for your first _obon temae,_ ” she said, taking a slow sip of the tea. “I think eventually, you’ll do well to learn how to conduct a formal tea ceremony in the future.”

 _Sounds exhausting,_ Miho thought, arms already aching at the thought of having to practice a four-hour long tea ceremony. She had never gone this far in her lessons before, but it seemed Mikoto was determined to impart all her knowledge in this lifetime. 

“Now,” Mikoto said, placing down her empty cup. “Pack up your things. Let’s head outside.”

“Outside?” Miho repeated, barely able to hide her mild alarm. At the tail end of June, Mikoto was _heavily_ pregnant. 

Mikoto hummed. “Only to the garden. Don’t worry.”

 _Strange,_ Miho thought, swiftly cleaning up her supplies and storing them properly away. _Everything about this is strange._

Actually, from the previous year alone, her mother had been behaving very differently from the other timeline. There had never been this much… _interest_ in Miho’s outside life before. 

Not long after, she stood out in the garden, right beside the koi pond she had once considered to end this reset timeline. It was too shallow for her to use now. 

Mikoto hobbled over to the edge of the house, sitting gently on the wood framed floors. 

“This is for you,” her mother said, pulling out a wooden practice sword. 

Miho stared at the stick. 

“I,” she said. “What?”

Mikoto laughed brightly. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you so surprised.”

Gingerly accepting the practice sword, Miho ran a hand over the polished wood. “But why?”

“Why not?” Mikoto countered, placing her hands on the floor to better rest her body. “I don’t know what you do so often outside the compound, but I’m sure it has something to do with training, right?”

Miho didn’t answer. Instead, she carefully studied the practice sword. 

“How about we try for a bit?” Mikoto asked, though it didn’t really sound like a request. “Indulge your mother a little, Miho.”

In no time at all, Miho found herself standing still, grasping the sword between two hands. 

“Good,” Mikoto called, watching from her seat on the floor. “Widen your stance a little and - ”

It wasn’t much work to fall back into a somewhat familiar position. She had once chased after Itachi all the way into ANBU, where it was mandatory to learn the basics of kenjutsu.

(Unlike Itachi, who had remained under Hatake Kakashi’s supervision for the most part, she had been passed around different teams for nearly two years.

It left her with no time to really go beyond those rudimentary basics, while Itachi learned under the best Konoha had to offer.)

An hour passed with Mikoto giving sets of verbal instructions, guiding Miho through a series of stances and katas. 

“Just as I thought,” Mikoto said, which was an alarming phrase to hear considering the person it was coming from. “Run through them every day this week and I’ll check them this weekend, okay?”

“Yes,” Miho said, after a beat of silence. She glanced down at the sword, the skin on her palms bright red. 

It wouldn’t hurt to add this to her schedule - she had a whole eight years of time to fill up anyways.

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

The weeks passed by and her lessons with Hansei eventually evolved into a study of the clan’s budget and supply list. 

(“It’s befitting for someone who might become the matriarch,” Hansei had said, as he watched her sort through their many warehouses. 

She wondered what exactly his plans were. They barely spent any time on shinobi basics - it was a miracle she already knew what to train for.)

Her time under Mikoto’s supervision, however, grew in fast spurts. It felt meaningless to pretend she was learning the basics again for the first time - she imagined Mikoto would eventually catch on either way.

(“You’re very good at this,” Mikoto had mentioned once, eyes creasing as she poured out another cup of tea. “After your sibling’s birth, it’ll be fun to try out a spar.”

“With you?” Miho asked, pointedly avoiding the comment on her abilities. 

“Yes,” Mikoto had said. “I’m sure Itachi is a bit too busy to indulge us.”)

 _She says that,_ Miho sat very still, keeping her hands in her lap, _and yet here we are._

“Good work, Miho,” her mother said, hands resting below her large stomach. “Now what do we say?”

Miho stared at the cup in Itachi’s hands. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Itachi said, a little unsurely. He knelt across the table as an active guest for her practice tea ceremony. 

Mikoto cleared her throat. 

_I should’ve poisoned the tea,_ Miho thought mildly, before batting the thought away. 

She raised her head and looked directly into Itachi’s eyes. 

( _Eye contact is important for informal guests!_ Mikoto had once said.)

Miho creased her eyes and lifted the corners of her lips. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she injected as much warmth into her voice as physically possible (which wasn’t much), and said again, “Thank you for coming.”

It was almost reminiscent of her life before. 

Itachi’s grip on his teacup slackened slightly. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, after a long beat of silence. The tips of his ears were tinged pink. 

_I want to leave,_ Miho thought, already staring blankly at the door. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Mikoto asked, clasping her hands together. “Itachi, you’re more than welcome to join us if you have the time. We can always use a practice guest!”

 _Please don’t,_ Miho thought. 

Itachi smiled gently at his tea. Then, as if it had always been his destiny to make her life worse, he said, “I’d like that.”

* * *

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

* * *

Uchiha Sasuke was born on a cool summer evening, entering the world with an ear-piercing wail that only served to reinforce the kind of boy she knew he would become. 

She sat patiently in the waiting room, as only one family member was allowed in the hospital room during labor. Next to her, Itachi remained absolutely still, the only sign of his unease shown through his jumping chakra. 

(Last time, they had held hands, their fingers interlocked together to keep away the nerves. 

_She’ll be okay,_ she had said, plastering on a bright grin in reassurance. Itachi’s returning smile had been so warm, it made the strain on her cheeks worth it.)

Her hands remained firmly in her lap. Soon after, a medic entered the lobby and called their names. 

Itachi quickly got to his feet and together, they followed the medic up the stairs to where Mikoto’s chakra flickered sluggishly. It might have been faster if Miho led the way, but that would only raise another set of flags she didn’t need in this lifetime. 

Inside the room, Mikoto lay across a bed, her skin pale, cheeks flushed red, and hair sticking to the side of her face. It was only during childbirth that her mother would ever look this undignified. 

At their entrance, Mikoto brightened, with Fugaku standing close by her side, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Come, you two,” she said, glancing down at the white bundle in her arms. “Meet your little brother.”

“Brother?” Itachi repeated, already joining the bedside. Sasuke’s gender hadn’t been announced ahead of time. 

Mikoto hummed. “We wanted it to be a surprise. But his name is Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke.”

“A legacy passed on from the Hokage,” Fugaku added. It was an ambitious choice to name Sasuke after Sarutobi Hiruzen’s father, but it fit her father’s one-track mind.

Mikoto glanced at Itachi and smiled. “Would you like to hold him?”

Itachi blinked. “Can I?”

After giving some quick instructions, Mikoto passed on the baby bundle and, with incredibly careful hands, Itachi held Sasuke in his arms.

Itachi studied Sasuke’s tiny body, his dark eyes wide and chakra bubbling imperceptibly. 

_The moment of truth,_ Miho thought dully, already tired of this whole event. It wasn’t as impactive as it had been the first time around. 

Her mind almost sagged in relief. With another sibling, with _Sasuke,_ Itachi’s attention would be redirected to another place and she could finally have some peace.

Mikoto turned to her with a gentle smile. “Would you like a turn, Miho?”

(Before, she would’ve said yes. She’d cradle Sasuke’s little body into her arms and marvel at his tiny fingers, wondering at the pain he was written to go through - )

 _I’d rather not,_ Miho thought, and said, “Maybe next time.”

“Nonsense!” Mikoto said brightly, completely overriding the refusal. It begged the question as to why she even bothered asking. “Here, it’s easy.”

Under strict directions, Itachi gently handed Sasuke over, a little more clumsily than before. Like accepting a sack of potatoes, Miho tucked Sasuke into her arms. It was easy adjusting his weight - she had once taken turns babysitting Sasuke with Itachi before.

She stared down at the sleeping infant, with squished cheeks and pink skin. 

_Ugly as always,_ she thought. It still beat Sasuke as an eight-year-old - he had always been a terrible whiner. 

She considered the baby in her arms. 

Getting rid of Sasuke had always been an option, for the sake of forcing Itachi’s hand. The blanket might not work on Itachi anymore, but it was still viable for an infant like Sasuke. 

The idea was tucked away for a later time. It held messy consequences and fratricide wasn’t as appealing as it had been five years ago. 

She raised her head, ready to get rid of the weight in her arms. Her training for the past year allowed her arms to remain steady without much trouble, but it was still a hassle. 

Across Mikoto’s bed, Itachi watched her (or, probably, Sasuke) with eyes as wide as the full moon. His chakra flickered like a warm fireplace. 

As always, she ignored his stares with ease and handed Sasuke back to their mother. It was entirely likely this Itachi was slightly defective compared to the one from before.

 _Eight more years,_ Miho thought, studying the yawning infant that marked another slot on the ever-ticking countdown. _Eight more years, and then I’ll finally be free of this mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some things to consider:  
> \- shichi-go-san' is a festival in Japan for children who turned three, five or seven that year (the literal translation is seven-five-three). it's a rite of passage to celebrate the survival of a child (as odd numbers were considered lucky numbers) - boys celebrate when they turn five, while girls are for ages three and seven.
> 
> \- generally speaking, shichi-go-san is celebrated on a specific date, but it's more commonly held during the weekend before or after - for this fic, the date to celebrate shichi-go-san was adjusted to match the weekend of Itachi and Miho's birthday, as they were heirs and turning five.
> 
> \- the candy briefly mentioned is 'chitose ame' ('thousand-year candy') that's often given in bags decorated with cranes or turtles to signify long life (kinda ironic given the ninja life LOL).
> 
> \- obon temae - is a japanese tea ceremony and one of the easiest to learn, which is why it's usually taught first. 'temae' is the act of the procedures in creating the tea. i always imagined that the Uchiha were incredibly traditional and would maintain these ceremonies, along with other traditional festivals for themselves.
> 
> phew! if you made it this far, i hope these little tidbits were fun to read! 
> 
> otherwise, thank you to everyone who's stopped by so far! your enthusiasm and love for this (now two-chapter!!) fic is honestly amazing and i'm very flattered at your faith in me. i hope i can live up to those expectations! otherwise, please enjoy another chapter that digs more deeply into Miho and her past/present relationships :)


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